<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>There For The Taking by Crossover_Critter</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26360698">There For The Taking</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crossover_Critter/pseuds/Crossover_Critter'>Crossover_Critter</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>In A Place Where We're Happy [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman (Comics), Constantine (Comic), Constantine (TV), Injustice: Gods Among Us, Supernatural, The Flash (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Awkward Sexual Situations, Humor, Hurt Barry Allen, Hurt John Constantine, M/M, Misunderstandings, POV Third Person, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Self-Hatred, Sexual Tension, Supernatural Elements</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:01:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,946</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26360698</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crossover_Critter/pseuds/Crossover_Critter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You never actually 'get over' the things people do to you.  They're always with you, always there.  They change you.  When you don't believe in people the way you used to, can't trust them, that's probably the worst part of it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Barry Allen &amp; John Constantine, Barry Allen/Bruce Wayne (past), Barry Allen/Dean Winchester (past), Barry Allen/John Constantine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>In A Place Where We're Happy [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915555</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>There For The Taking</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Apologies for taking so long to post this -- it took me a while to get through the edits.  There's a reference in this story to a past relationship between Dean Winchester (Supernatural) and Barry Allen (Flash), a head cannon that never made it to paper.  The relevant bit is that Dean and Barry met while Sam and Dean were in Central City on a hunt.  They did the long-distance dating thing before Dean moved to Central to give "normal" life a try.  Suffice it to say that it failed, and unable to settle down and give up hunting, the relationship ended and Dean left.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I realized, after all this time, I never really thanked you for what you did. Hell, I don't even remember most of what happened after...." Barry let the rest of the sentence hang.<em> After Bruce left. After he dumped you on your ass and walked away. Told you you had no place in his life because you dared to disagree with him. </em>His shoulders shook as he just managed to hold back a sob that snuck up on him. <em>God, it still hurts. It's been years and it </em>still <em>hurts</em>. He took a sip of beer, using the moment to get himself under control. Still, his voice quivered when he spoke again. "I just know that I was a mess, and if you hadn't been there I'd probably still be on that floor in a blubbering puddle," he said, offering John a weak smile even as his gaze slipped away from the other man's in poorly concealed shame.</p><p>Feeling a lump form in his throat, John placed his beer bottle on the metal table and turned to face Barry fully, wanting the other man to see the sincerity in his eyes. Barry, however, continued to look away. "Look, luv, what happened -- I'm glad I was there to help. That bastard...." John felt his blood start to boil as he once again pictured Bruce, fully costumed, back straight, boot-steps determined and even, retreating down the corridor, oblivious to or uncaring of the harm he'd just wrought. "You have nothing to be ashamed of," he said, hoping Barry sensed his earnestness and heard the truth in the words.</p><p>The other man huffed a laugh, and John mentally kicked himself. <em>Warmth and sincerity, not exactly my bloody forte</em>, <em>are they?</em></p><p>As Barry took a long pull from his beer, John turned back to face the garden, unsure what else to say.</p><p>It was Barry who eventually spoke.</p><p>"You never actually 'get over' the things people do to you. I mean, maybe I don't dwell on Bruce as much...don't think about it all the time. But what he did...." Barry trailed off for a moment, his eyes following a drop of condensation snaking its way down his bottle. "It's always with me," he finally finished, his voice much quieter. "Like Dean, it's always there; it's changed me. I don't believe in people the way I used to; I can't trust them. That's probably the worst part of it."</p><p>A heavy silence descended over the two men. John snuck a look at Barry out of the corner of his eye and found the other man picking absently at the label on his beer bottle, his gaze resolutely glued to the object in his hands. He blinked rapidly, clearly trying to stave off tears.</p><p>John's lips curled and he gripped his own bottle as he felt the tell-tale tingle of magic sparking at his fingertips. He had to fight the urge to release the spell dancing anew on his tongue -- the same spell he'd been tempted to cast the day he'd found Barry in the bunker, his eyes wide in pain and shock, mouth gaping with unspoken words, body shaking. <em>It would have been so easy. </em>A myriad diseases, unfathomable pain, a never-ending curse. <em>So easy.</em> But as John had started to utter the words, Barry's legs had finally given out, sending the man painfully to his knees on the cement floor. It had taken John all of five steps to cross the hall and reach the other man, but in that time Bruce had gone without a backwards glance and all that mattered was Barry, kneeling before him, gaze gone blank, trembling in an ultimately futile attempt not to cry.</p><p>John's stomach roiled at the memory, his hand opening wider as the magic coalesced in his palm. <em>So easy to give that self-righteous son of a bitch what he deserves</em>. <em>Better late than never, </em><em>eh?</em></p><p>"John?"</p><p>Barry's voice startled John out of his thoughts, and he felt the gathering power disperse and disappear like wisps of smoke. John stared at his hand, the part of his brain reliving that day eager to recall the magic and let it loose. But the small bit that noted Barry's concern forced his eyes up and across the table.</p><p>"Sorry, luv, got carried away in me head."</p><p>The statement was met with a small nod and another forced smile as Barry hunched his shoulders and went back to picking at the label.</p><p><em>Bullocks! </em>John cursed at himself. "Look, luv, I...," he began.</p><p>"So you think magic...," Barry said at the same time.</p><p>There was a brief pause, and John rushed to fill it. "I was listening. But I was also thinking of all the ways a certain bat-eared wanker might be made to regret his life choices, if you get my drift."</p><p>Barry regarded him steadily for a moment before snorting and starting to laugh. The sound loosened something in John's gut and he found himself taking a deep breath and relaxing back into his chair. Downing the rest of his beer, he watched in amusement until Barry's laughter slowly subsided.</p><p>"All done then?" John snarked, eyebrow raised. "Glad I could lighten the mood."</p><p>Barry finished the last of his drink, placing his bottle carefully on the table. "Yeah, thanks for that. Don't think I've ever heard anyone call Bruce a 'wanker' before. It...fits." He smiled, and in a moment of weakness, John's eyes locked on the other man's lips, following their curves up until his gaze met two startling blue eyes that twinkled with equal parts mirth and sadness.</p><p><em>Bloody torture this is. </em>Always had been, if John was honest with himself. Ever since he'd started making a point of coming around when he was nearby (within a hundred miles was "nearby," wasn't it?), checking up on Barry, trying to deepen his friendship with the other man in the hopes that just maybe.... John coughed and shook himself out his reverie, turning back to the garden and away from temptation. "Just another thing we English do better than you Yanks." Barry raised an eyebrow of his own in question, and John rolled his eyes dramatically. "Swear."</p><p>Barry pondered the statement for a moment before shaking his head. "You want another beer?"</p><p>John's answering look told Barry what a spectacularly stupid question he thought that was, and Barry levered himself up from chair, grabbed the empties, and went back inside. John heard the clanking of glass and the refrigerator open and shut, followed by more glass clanking, and then Barry stepped back onto the patio.</p><p>"Ta very much," John said, accepting a beer. "Cheers," he added, tilting his bottle towards Barry.</p><p>"Cheers." Barry took a long pull before saying, "So you think magic had something to do with the murders."</p><p>"You just said that with a straight face," John noted, smirking around his bottle. "Good to know you haven't gone too normal since you left the League."</p><p>Snorting, Barry regarded John with something akin to disbelief. "My ex-partner was a hunter. I can run fast enough to break the time barrier. And you, my friend, walk around with a spell book in your pocket. League or no League, I'm not even sure I remember what 'normal' looks like."</p><p>John couldn't help the grin that tugged at his lips. Shrugging with both eyebrows, he replied, "Right you are. So here's the thing: I think there's a good chance magic is involved, but I'm not certain yet."</p><p>"And what would make you certain?"</p><p>Licking his lips, John glanced at Barry out of the corner of his eye. "A peek at the bodies."</p><p>Massaging the sudden tension in his neck, Barry shook his head firmly. "I can't -- even if you weren't known to the police from hanging around the crime scenes. If I let you into the morgue, at the very least it could get any evidence we find thrown out should the cases go to trial. If this <em>isn't</em> magic, the families of those victims will never get justice."</p><p>What Barry hadn't said was that there was a good chance he'd be fired if caught, and John honestly had no intention of risking his friend's career. <em> But </em> <em> if it is magic and I wait too long, any residue from the spells or the creature might vanish and someone else might die. </em> He clicked his tongue and drew in a deep breath, huffing it out in short bursts. He really hadn't expected Barry to say "yes," which left John with only one option. He raised his beer bottle to his lips with one hand, while his other rummaged in his coat pocket for his magic card. <em>Hopefully won't be too many people hanging around the morgue at night, but this should help get me past in a pinch.</em></p><p>John winced, sneaking another glance at Barry. He realized that if his little B&amp;E went sideways he would lose any chance he might have had with the other man. Still might, regardless, if Barry ever found out John went behind his back and broke into the coroner's office. Part of John wanted to walk away, leave the mess for the police, and hope it was just another crazy serial killer. But if his theory was right, the police were out of their league. <em>Hell, the next dead body that turns up might belong to a certain gorgeous CSI who's had your knickers in a twist for bloody well forever.</em></p><p>And fuck if that thought didn't make John go cold.</p><p>"I'm sorry," Barry said, misreading the sudden hunch of the other man's shoulders and the tightening of his eyes and mouth as anger instead of fear. "If I see anything, or there's anything in the report, I'll let you know as much as I can. But I can't compromise evidence."</p><p>"No, you're right, luv." John pushed himself upright and rubbed at his eyes. "I just...this is the third murder. I'd like there not to be any more." He glanced quickly at Barry and then back down to his hands, which were now clenched in his lap. He relaxed them with effort.</p><p>Barry turned and rested his elbows on the table, interlacing his fingers. In his mind swirled the bloody, gruesome images of the victims, their flesh shredded down to stark, jagged white bone, innards missing, ostensibly breakfast for some magical beast. <em>God, please don't let this be another instance of kids unknowingly conjuring demons. </em> Dean had worked such a case over a decade ago; three teenagers had found a book of "kooky old poems" (Dean's words) and decided to have some fun. Seven people, four of them children, had died before Dean had been able to vanquish the creatures released by the incantations. The subsequent bender had lasted a week. Barry guessed that for all John's typical nonchalance, a string of supernatural murders he couldn't solve would also see him taking up residence at the local bar. <em>Even if he refuses to show it, it's obvious he cares.</em></p><p>Catching John's eye when the other man snuck yet another glance in his direction, Barry forced a wan smile that came nowhere near meeting his eyes. Someone had to be "ok" with handling the weird ones, but sometimes he wished he could retreat back into blissful ignorance and let someone else deal with it.</p><p>"It's getting late, luv," John said quietly. "I should go, let you get ready for tomorrow." He watched as Barry blinked in confusion, only just then realizing that the sun was starting to set. The rays turned his skin golden and John licked his lips, forcing himself to look away. <em>You can't keep doing this, Johnny boy. Something's gonna give.</em> He sighed and stood, grabbing both beer bottles, now magically empty. He wished he remembered finishing his.</p><p>Slowly, Barry stood as well, pushing in his chair and looking at John with something like disappointment. It made John's heart clench; for once he wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve it. <em>Maybe he suspects what you plan to do.</em></p><p>"You're right, there's going to be a lot to do tomorrow going over the evidence from the crime scenes." Barry paused. "I promise I'll let you know if I find anything that can help; if it's magic, I want you there."</p><p>The knot in John's chest eased somewhat, and he nodded as he followed Barry into the house. The other man took the bottles from John and deposited them into the recycle bin in the kitchen. He turned towards the living room, at the other end of which was the front door, and hesitated.</p><p>John saw the indecision flash across Barry's face, warring with another emotion that he couldn't identify. "You alright, luv?" He reached a hand towards Barry's arm, taking a few steps forward until he could touch the other man. Barry looked like he wanted to say something, but he gave up after several seconds of fumbling for words and instead stepped cautiously into John's personal space. His eyes searched John's face in silent question, eventually dropping closed as he took in the other man's scent, his mouth searching tentatively for John's lips. They met with the barest of pressure, accented by Barry's feather-light touches over the other man's torso as his wandering hands worked their way down from John's shoulders, across his chest, around his waist, and inside his trench coat.</p><p>John groaned, his body already aching as it yearned for more contact. <em>Not enough</em>. <em>So many years, and not enough</em>. His blood pooled south as Barry's deft fingers played with the hem of his shirt, seeking the softness of John's skin hidden beneath, massaging just above the cleft of his ass. John's breath stuttered and he broke their kiss, struggling to fill his lungs. He was no stranger to sex, but here and now he felt like he was floating, his body weightless and yet every nerve alive with delicious warmth. <em>We haven't even done anything yet</em>, he thought incredulously.</p><p>He buried his face in Barry's neck, nibbling on the tender skin just below the other man's ear as his hands traveled up from Barry's waist, ghosting over his back and sending shivers down Barry's spine that only served to fuel John's desire. Playing with the short hairs on Barry's neck elicited a shudder, and John reached up to cup his head as he alternately nipped and sucked at Barry's lips and tongue.</p><p>John arched as Barry pulled them closer together, his body trembling in need and want as their groins met and the heat engulfed them both.</p><p>"Upstairs?" Barry asked, breathless, biting back a moan as John nipped at a particularly sensitive spot along his jaw.</p><p><em>Oh God, yes. </em>John felt the last of his blood rush south in sinful anticipation, and he lifted his head to recapture Barry's lips. Pleasure threatened to overwhelm him as Barry's thigh rubbed against his clothed length, his fingers dipping lower into the back of John's trousers.</p><p>Barry's cock was a fire against John's thigh, and John imagined his own hands traveling lower down the other man's back as he licked and nipped at Barry's skin, his fingers searching for access to the warm body concealed beneath too many layers of clothes. One hand would cup Barry through the rough fabric of his jeans while the other would pop the button and slowly lower the zip....</p><p>"Wait."</p><p>John didn't recognize the voice as his own at first -- thought it was Barry who had suddenly changed his mind. It was only when he felt the body under his hands still that he realized the words had come from his own mouth. He didn't know which he wanted to do more: cry or curse his horrible timing in developing a moral compass.</p><p>"John, are you okay?" Barry's voice was breathless and full of need.</p><p>Bringing his left hand up to rest on Barry's breastbone, John fought to clear his head. The fine tremors rippling across his muscles betrayed the effort it took him to remain still.</p><p>"John...?"</p><p><em>My trousers are tight, my heart is racing, I'm sure I'm redder than a bleeding cherry, I'm pressed up against the subject of every fantasy I've had for years...and I bloody well have my hand against his chest and I'm pushing him away. No, I'm bloody well not 'okay!' </em> John struggled to catch his breath, resisting the urge to lean his head on Barry's shoulder. <em>So close....</em></p><p>"John...?"</p><p><em>If he doesn't stop saying my name like that.... </em> John's self-control was fraying, hearing the man he'd been in love with for years whisper his name as if he really, truly cared. <em>Only bloody one. </em>He finally convinced his feet to move backwards, putting some unwanted but needed distance between him and Barry. He looked up in time to see the other man's expression shift from confusion to shame – the same look he'd worn at the table in the garden, the one that tore at whatever was left of the heart John had always been so keen on hiding. Or had been, until he'd been ruined by Barry Allen.</p><p>"Barry..."</p><p>"No, it's okay." Barry held up a hand, cutting John off. "I'm sorry. I misread the signs; I saw how you kept looking at me and everything, and I thought...." He shrugged, exhaling forcefully. "I thought you were interested, but it's obviously been a while for me and I misread everything. I'm sorry."</p><p><em>Nonononononono!</em> John thought, panicking. He reached for Barry's arms, but grasped only air as the other man side-stepped. "Barry...," he tried again.</p><p>"It's okay, really. I'm sorry."</p><p>Frustrated, John jumped in front the other man as he moved to open the front door. "It's <em>not</em> 'okay,' and will you <em>please</em> stop saying 'sorry!'" He knew he must have looked half-crazed, and he took a steadying breath as he gripped Barry's upper arms, forcing him to meet his eyes. John made sure he had Barry's undivided attention before continuing. "You didn't get it wrong, luv. You didn't. I <em>am</em> interested, just not in that. Well, yes, in <em>that</em> ," he rushed to clarify, when Barry's brow furrowed, "but that's not the only thing. I want...." <em>To be with you? Stay with you? Love you? Bullocks! </em>God, but he was bad at this.</p><p>Barry waited a moment for John to finish, but John just opened and closed his mouth soundlessly. With a sigh, he said, "I don't understand."</p><p>John groaned and pinched his nose hard, trying to tame the thoughts rushing through his head into something marginally coherent. He took a deep breath and raised his eyes skyward, wishing someone up there would take pity on him and either bless him with the prose of Shakespeare or open the ground wide enough to swallow him whole.</p><p>"I love you," John blurted.</p><p>Reality seemed to freeze, and John's field of view narrowed to nothing but the expression of outright shock mixed with not a little fear that etched itself in the pale stone that suddenly became Barry's face. John didn't know what to do -- couldn't get his brain to do anything except unhelpfully scream <em>bullocks! </em>over and over again.</p><p>Barry started backing away on shaking legs, his hands held up in front of him as if he was warding off an attacker. He startled when he bumped into the back of the sofa, panic taking over. It took several tries before he could speak, but when the words finally came they spilled out in a rush. "John, I...uh....I mean...look, I...I will always be grateful for how you helped me. I mean, you've been a great friend these last few years, I swear. But I told you, I...I just... I can't trust like that. And you...I mean, people...they get hurt when they're with you. Some of them even die. I'm sorry, but after everything I've been through...I just <em>can't</em>."</p><p>The two men stared at each other, Barry trying to catch his breath as John's brain worked to process the onslaught. As the full weight of words hit him, John felt the tell-tale prick of tears and turned swiftly, hoping Barry didn't notice. He braced his hands against a small foyer table, fingers scratching the surface as his head hung low. His chest felt tight, his lungs unable to get enough oxygen. <em>Damn fags. </em></p><p>"John, I...."</p><p>Cutting Barry off, John whispered, "Do you know what it's like to see the man you want to be right there in front of your face, so close you can <em>almost</em> touch him, but you can never quite get there?" Every word dripped bitterness.</p><p>Barry didn't respond, but John couldn't find the strength to turn and look the other man in the eye. He was too afraid of what he might see. Instead he pressed on, anger thickening his accent. "I know what I've done! I know 'oo I've 'urt! I know there's not a single act of penance grand enough to wipe the slate clean!" He screwed his eyes shut as images of the fiery pits of Hell danced in his mind. "But it doesn' matter! I don' want t' be this person anymore!"</p><p>The sorrow and self-hatred radiating off John were tangible, and Barry's gut twisted. "I can't change you, John," he said softly.</p><p>"No, but you believe in me – that I <em>can</em> change." John raised a hand to his eyes, and although Barry couldn't see it, he was almost certain the man was wiping away tears. The hitch in John's breathing confirmed it.</p><p><em>This isn't the way this was supposed to go</em>, John's inner voice raged. He'd waited so long for this moment, somehow thinking that with enough time and enough patience he could make Barry see how serious he was, how much he cared – that he'd give or do just about anything for the chance so many others had had and squandered thoughtlessly.</p><p>But if John had been thinking clearly, he would have realized that he had always been too damaged and blackened to ever have had a chance. <em>You say you love him, but if you really did, you'd realize he deserves so much better. So good at fooling everyone else, but you're blind to your own con!</em></p><p>John's strength collapsed as the full weight of his delusion hit him. Turning, his back slid slowly down the wall until he was seated on the floor with his knees bent. Past the point of caring how pathetic he looked, he hung his head and wrapped his arms around his waist. It was over, and the depth of the emptiness he now felt was terrifying.</p><p>The silence hung heavy and suffocating for what felt like hours before soft footfalls and the rustle of fabric broke its grip. The heat from Barry's body, now seated close to John's, was a cruel reminder of what John wanted but now knew he would never have. He almost jumped out of his skin at the feel of Barry's touch on his arm.</p><p>"I'm so sorry," Barry said quietly, earnestly. "What I said...it was callous and awful. I just...I wasn't expecting.... You surprised me." The other man didn't respond, didn't even move, and Barry felt more than a little sick at the sight of John's defeated, broken posture. He'd never seen the man anything other than animated and cocksure. "John, please, look at me. I don't want to destroy our friendship over this."</p><p>John's chuckle was dark and humorless. "That's just it, though," he said softly, raising his head but not meeting Barry's eyes. Instead, he gazed out across the foyer, pretending fascination with the glass wind chimes outside the window that caught the rays from the setting sun and scatted rainbows across the wall. <em>Wasn't enough to kick me in the bollocks and knock me on my arse, had to go and do it with the sun shining and the birds chirping? </em>He was sure there were choice words he could lob at the man above, but he didn't have the energy for even a proper curse.</p><p>"What is?" Barry prodded, and John realized he'd spaced out.</p><p>Rubbing at his eyes, John sighed deeply and finally turned towards Barry. "I don't just want to be your friend. I haven't for years. That night on the satellite when you and Bruce...when he found you after Dean...." John bit his lip, his mind going back to that moment he'd seen Barry standing alone in the corridor of the League's satellite, hugging himself, bowed head resting against one of the portals. <em>The demons mucking about in your head that night, all the pain they were causing, it was so obvious. All I wanted to do was hold you and make it better</em>. John, having watched the other man from afar for years, had only been a handful of steps down the hall, but he'd still been too late. "I wanted that to be me, but Bruce got there first." John's voice was rough and uneven, and he cursed his emotions. <em>Life was so much easier when you were an insensitive, self-absorbed arsehole.</em></p><p>When Barry didn't say anything, John shifted so he could stand, fully intending to leave this night and all its failures behind with a trip to the local. A gentle hand on his arm held him back.</p><p>"Thank you. For being honest, I mean. Probably more than you intended," Barry added, his faint smile coming off as more of a grimace, "but still, I'd rather this than us sleeping together and...." He trailed off, unable to convey how truly thankful he was that he hadn't abused John's emotions that way.</p><p>John, however, laughed bitterly and leaned his head back against the wall. "You'll forgive me if I'd rather have kept my silence, yeah? Maybe gone about the whole thing a different way." <em>Like not at all. Ever. </em> He chewed at his lower lip, trying to figure out how much more to say about how he really felt. In the end, he realized it didn't matter. He'd lost. His dignity – such as it ever was – was already in tatters. Sighing, he said, "I just wanted to say that I liked you. That you're one of the few genuinely nice people I've ever met. I mean, I used to think that the whole 'nice guy' routine was just a front, but it's not; you really do care about people. When Bats or Supes gave me the cold shoulder or went off on me for no reason at all, you didn't take it. When they warned you away from me, you didn't listen. And it wasn't just me; there were a lot of misfits and broken toys in the League, and you gave them all a chance. That...it meant a lot to us. To <em>me</em>. It made me realize that I could change and someone might be willing to see it."</p><p>He paused, his mind replaying the minutes just prior when he'd declared his feelings -- what Barry had said. "I guess maybe some of them did rub off on you after all, though," John whispered, unable to completely disguise how much those words had hurt when spoken by someone he thought was different, someone he thought had cared about him and believed in him. The rest of the League could curse him all day, lay blame for all their ills at his feet, but Barry was supposed to see the truth. At the very least, the other man was supposed to be his friend. But it looked like that had all been in John's head, too.</p><p>Watching as John shrunk into himself, Barry drew in a shaky breath as his inner voice raged. <em>There was no excuse. None. No matter what the others said, you accepted John into your life – he was there for you and you welcomed his friendship. He trusted you, and you just drove a knife into his back. You're no better than they are. </em> Barry didn't have the words to describe just how small he felt at that moment. "I'm sorry. Truly. I don't know where that come from, and I don't know why I said it." He swallowed thickly, distraught over how deeply he'd managed to hurt his friend. <em>Whatever John did, it was in the past. You have never met that man.</em></p><p><em>But he still existed. You know what John's capable of, </em>the bruised, battered, and crushed part of his heart reminded him.</p><p>Biting his lip, Barry countered, <em> He </em> <em> wanted me enough to change.</em></p><p>
  <em>Did he? Or did he just hide that part of himself from you?</em>
</p><p>Every time the League had treated John little better than gum on the bottom of their boots, Barry had had a similar argument with himself. Bruce, Clark, Diana, and so many of the others had been around long enough to see John at his worst: the con man, the swindler, the thief, the one who destroyed the lives of friends and enemies alike because he always had an angle to play. Barry knew that man existed from their stories, but the John Constantine he'd met was completely different, and Barry had always been determined to judge based on what he saw and experienced himself.</p><p>John's watery voice interrupted his reverie.</p><p>"You trust me enough to let me hold you when you're broken, drink at your table when you have something to celebrate or lament, vanquish your demons...but you don't trust me enough to take care of your heart." A tear fell. "It's alright, mate. You'll be better off for it. The others all figured it out too late." John covered his mouth with his hand and closed his eyes. More tears fell.</p><p>Barry closed his eyes and hung his head, trying to figure out how the conversation had gone so far off the rails. He cared for John; while not a constant presence in his life since Bruce, the two of them had shared enough beers, food, and stories over the subsequent years that Barry knew for a fact that the John who held him through that night, the one who showed up on his doorstep with a bottle of cheap booze and a deck of cards on the same day the next year, and the one who always made it a point to call if he was anywhere near Central City (within a hundred miles was "nearby," wasn't it?), was more than the man the others had been able to see. John had never hurt him, never lied to him – had been honest no matter the cost. <em>Which will be your friendship if you don't figure out how to set this right.</em></p><p><em>What are you so afraid of? </em>The voice in Barry's head sounded small and feeble, a guttering flame of hope.</p><p>
  <em>Everything.</em>
</p><p>"I'm scared. I'm scared, and I'm going to destroy our friendship rather than risk going through...that...again," Barry murmured. His shoulders shook and his eyes, red and unfocused, stared at nothing as he spoke.</p><p>Barry didn't see John's face fall, missed the silent gasp as the vice around John's heart clenched tighter. The other man let his head fall backwards against the wall. Once. Twice.</p><p>Barry turned sharply at the hollow sound, and he couldn't help but shift closer to John, wrapping his arms around his friend's shoulders and burying his face in John's neck. "Crushed" didn't even come close to describing John's appearance. "Destroyed" might not even have been adequate. "I'm sorry. I am so so sorry," Barry whispered against the other man's skin. "I didn't mean it. Any of it. You've never been that man to me. I'm just a coward."</p><p>John couldn't speak; his lips were quivering too much.</p><p>"I want you in my life. We both know I want the intimacy." Barry shook his head. "I'm just not sure I can do another relationship again." His words were desperate, begging John to understand.</p><p>"So what? Friends with benefits?" John didn't mean it to sound so acerbic, but part of him knew that he and Barry could play that game forever and never have it go anywhere. He didn't want a couple of beers, a roll in the sack, and a peck on the lips at the door the next morning. He couldn't take it. "I could spend years trying to prove myself to you, showing you how much I love you, and it might never mean anything. Wake up one morning and...." <em>Be tossed away. </em>John swallowed and scrunched his eyes closed.</p><p>Barry pressed a kiss into John's shoulder and held the other man tighter. <em>How much are you willing to lose out of fear, Allen? How long has John been there for you?</em></p><p><em>Just because he wanted his turn, </em>came the retort from his broken heart.</p><p><em>How many years has he waited? </em>Hope argued.</p><p><em>What if I'm not the person he thinks I am? </em>Barry fired back.</p><p><em>Then he leaves. But what if you're exactly what he wants? </em>Hope.</p><p>
  <em>What if I'm not? </em>
</p><p>Barry squeezed his eyes shut, wanting nothing more than quiet – a chance to think. He hadn't been prepared for this, and he felt exhaustion overtaking him. "Emotions suck," he said softly, resting his head on John's knee.</p><p>There was a moment of silence, and then John huffed a laugh. Barry strained his eyes upwards, surprised. Another barked laugh, and before too long the two of them where caught up in a bout of anxiety-fueled laughter that was just the other side of hysterical. Just when they both managed to calm down, their eyes would meet and the ruckus would start anew. The pattern lasted for several minutes before fading into soft gasps and hiccups that left both their chests aching and faces bright red.</p><p>Wiping away laughter-induced tears, John turned towards Barry and gently held the other man's head between his hands, forcing their eyes to meet. "Do you really think I'd hurt you?" Barry tried to look away, but John wouldn't let him. He used his thumb to wipe away a trail of moisture from Barry's cheek as he waited for an answer.</p><p>"I never thought Bruce would."</p><p>A flash of anger crossed John's face. "Yeah, well, I'm many things, but I'm not a wanker." His eyes narrowed, and John ducked his head and leaned in closer, bringing himself almost nose to nose with Barry. "Only a wanker would hurt you."</p><p>Barry let out a low chuckle and looked away, sucking on his lower lip for a moment before softly asking, "And what are you?"</p><p>"Here. Right now. And not planning to leave anytime soon."</p><p>Barry drew in a shaky breath and turned his face into the other man's palm, closing his eyes. After a minute of silence, John slid closer and wrapped his arms around Barry, drawing the man to his chest and holding him close. Lips pressed against Barry's hair, he whispered, "You want to know what happens if I hurt you? You forget, you could always hurt me. If you haven't noticed, I'll point out that I have nothing left to hide behind. Every bad deed, every mistake, every person I've hurt...you know all of it. And now, on top of all that, you know how I feel."</p><p>Barry burrowed deeper into the cocoon of John's arms. "And you know all about Dean and about Bruce...how they hurt me. You know how easy it would be to break me," he said into John's shirt.</p><p>Holding Barry still tighter, John replied, "Then let's not screw this up." His tone brooked no argument.</p><p>Against his chest, John felt Barry nod, and in a voice barely audible, the other man replied, "Agreed."</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>